


Sunday Morning

by Sunshine170



Category: Fringe
Genre: Episode: s03e22 The Day We Died, Gen, Grey Verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-11
Updated: 2013-11-11
Packaged: 2018-01-01 05:03:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1040656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunshine170/pseuds/Sunshine170
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s a Sunday when it first occurs to him to ask her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunday Morning

 

It’s on a Sunday when it first occurs to him to ask her.

He’s staring at the toaster in her kitchen, _their_ kitchen, waiting for the slices to pop when he realizes.

It’s been a year and they’ve survived, they’re still with each other.

They’re here and they’re together.

It’s not that everything’s okay of course.

A year after the machine, after everything falls apart around them. With Walter gone and the blood of billions on his hands…they’re far from okay. 

Still cautious, still just healing.

They have more than their share of bad days. He does to be precise.  Days when the dark cloud over his head won’t go away and he wants the whole world to just leave him alone. Days when they fail spectacularly at stopping whatever calamity has befallen their world and all he wants is to pack a bag and disappear into the mist. 

He’s tried to leave her, get her to leave him rather.

Pushed her away — in anger, in shame, in penance.

In the almost certain understanding that she was too good for him. That he didn’t deserve to have her in his life.

That he didn’t deserve anybody.

She doesn’t let him of course. She never lets him. Even at his worst, she stands by him, patient and understanding.

 Today he’s never been more thankful for her stubbornness.

 Because she’s the only thing that makes any sense in the world anymore. The only one who makes him feel like there was a point to it…that he didn’t destroy a world in vain.

When the nightmares come, its she who holds him through it, whispering words of comfort and keeping him afloat as he drowns in the hell of his demons, suffocating under the weight of his guilt. She who reminds him over and over that he didn’t start this, that it wasn’t his fault, that he has saved as many lives as he unwittingly caused to end.

That their world stands because of him.

Broken, crumbling in pain, it still stands…much like them.

It doesn’t seem like much of a victory to be honest. It doesn’t seem like he did anything except make things worse. 

But there are those moments when they manage to forget; when it’s simply them and they’re together… it’s nothing short of magical.

It’s almost like nothing has ever felt this right, this perfect…this normal.

And that maybe if she let him, he would devote a lifetime to making her as happy as she had made him.

So he takes her breakfast in bed that day like he does every Sunday… well, when they can manage to find the time to eat of course, thinking about what he wants to say, what this would mean for them.

If they could even make this work.

“What is it?” She finally asks, tuning into his pensive silence as he sits in bed next to her, staring away into the future, the wheels churning, one scenario after the other popping into his head as he thinks about his next move – ideas, clichés rejecting themselves as they entered his head.

Something nice, memorable, something normal…something that would make her feel special.

It’s the least he can do. Not fuck this up too.

He pulls away from his thoughts to look at her, considering him with a curious expression, in faded t-shirt and pajamas, her hair tousled, crumbs of toast at the corner of her lips.

And he laughs because he realizes he’s going to fuck this up anyway.  That he’s going to be that impatient eight year old who couldn’t wait to open his presents and ruined Christmas for everyone.

He also realizes…he doesn’t really care.

“I was thinking that I could do this for the rest of my life.”

“Yeah?” She smiles, taking the last sip out of the coffee mug.

“And that maybe you’d like to do the same.”

“Eat breakfast?” She cocks a quizzical eyebrow, setting down her mug on the night stand.

 “Among other things.” He chuckles, reaching out to take her hand, squeezing it gently.

“Now I know you’re supposed to do these things with some planning, and that there’s usually a ring and a fancy restaurant and some romantic heartfelt speeches involved…but say I did all that, you think you’d say yes?”

She blinks, the meaning of his words sinking in slowly, a radiant smile lighting up her face. She shrugs then.

“If you asked me…I suppose I would.”

 He nods, settling back into the pillows, a smile twitching at the corner of his lips as he grabs the last piece of toast on her plate.

“Good to know.”

“Peter…” She turns to face him, their positions mirroring each other.

“Yeah?”

“Just ask me now.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t want the ring and the…”

“No…”

“Not even…”

“No.”

He nods wordlessly, his heart suddenly beating so fast it almost seems like it were trying to get out. It’s been really long since he’s felt like that in the presence of a woman, not since he was thirteen at least. He thinks of words to say, something to preface the critical question with.

She at least should get to have that, words, phrases….something.

 _Think Bishop._  He searches his brain for something, books, poetry, paintings…only to come up with zilch.

He shakes his head, knowing it was futile. He had one shot at this and he’s screwed it up.

“Olivia will you…”

“Yes.” She nods sealing his lips with hers before he can say anything.

“You didn’t let me finish.” He mumbles against her lips, trying to pull away. But she holds on, kissing him harder, with everything she’s got.

“It doesn’t matter.” She shakes her head. “It’s yes.”

“It’s yes?” He nods slowly, his face searching hers, seeking confirmation, swallowing hard as he realizes what that means. “You’re really saying yes.”

“I can put it down in writing if you want.” She laughs as he brings his hand to her face, feeling the warmth of her skin.

He shakes his head then, kissing her slowly, taking his time.

He has the rest of his life with her anyway.

“Okay then.” He whispers, his forehead resting against hers.

“Okay.


End file.
